Birch spoke anxiously to Lansing in the hall outside.
"I don't like to start with her, as worn-out as this," he said. "Yet
everything is engaged--the state-room and all--and I don't want to delay
without reason. There's not time to send to the city for Doctor
Forester. Suppose you telephone Doctor Ridgway to come around and tell
us what to do about starting. If he is out, try Sears or Barton. Have
him hurry. We've barely forty-five minutes now."
In three minutes Lansing came back and beckoned his father out of the
room.
"They're all out," he said, "I tried old Doctor Hitchcock, too, but he's
sick in bed. How about that new doctor that's just moved in next door? I
like his looks. He certainly will know enough to advise about this."
Mr. Birch hesitated a moment. "Well, call him," he decided.
Lansing was already down the stairs. Three minutes later he returned
with the young doctor. Mr. Birch met them in the hall.
"Doctor Churchill, father." Mr. Birch looked keenly into a pair of eyes
whose steady glance gave him instantly the feeling that here was a man
to trust.
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